


trace the lines with my fingers

by defcontwo



Category: Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason's never been very good at wanting things for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trace the lines with my fingers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somehowunbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/gifts).



Caroline Hill. Katherine Gallagher. A working girl who only goes by the name of Ruby. 

Tim does it a lot — puts on pantyhose and dresses and high, high heels and goes out onto the streets or into shady basement clubs and works the room because there are things that he can find out dressed like that that he can never find out dressed as himself or as Red Robin. And it would be hot — oh hell, it would be the hottest thing Jason’s ever seen except. 

Except it’s not hot for Tim. There’s nothing about it that he enjoys. It’s part of the job to him. He’s small enough, good enough at slipping more easily into a new persona than any other Bat in the city and so these jobs fall to Tim more often than not. Lace and silk and the steel of a bo staff hidden in some very imaginative places but it’s an uniform, nothing more. 

Jason watches him when he returns. Watches the smooth line from the top of his skirt to the bottom of those heels, watches as Tim peels it off neatly, sighing in annoyance when eyeliner never comes off as easily as he wants it to. Jason watches as Caroline, Katherine, Ruby, shed their skin and take on ratty old sweatpants and Jason’s too-big worn out KISS t-shirt, as they turn back into Tim, the spell broken. 

He watches, every time, and he’s honest enough with himself to admit that it’s not with desire. It’s with jealousy. 

— 

The thing is, right. It’s not that he’s ashamed. He’s read just about every queer lit book the Gotham City library has to offer, he knows that it’s not weird that he thinks about wearing lingerie, that he thinks it would feel good, freeing, even. That he likes floral and lace maybe just as much, if not more than he likes plaid and leather and the rough feel of good, scuffed jeans. 

Heteronormative gender conventions for fashion are bullshit. He knows this and he could give a five paragraph long argument to prove it, but. 

He gets that he — he presents in a certain way, now. He’s taller and broader than he ever would have guessed when he was too-young and shivering in clothes too big for him; has the looks of a thug or a bruiser and people treat him like that’s what he is when he’s out and about, running errands or checking up on leads and — there’s a value to that. He benefits from it even as it makes his skin crawl. And there’s a theatricality to the Red Hood, to what the Red Hood has to be and that’s — that’s part of him too. He won’t deny it’s not. But it’s not all of him. 

It’s just — it’s just that he’s never been very good at wanting things for himself. 

—- 

It starts with little things. 

He likes rooting through bins at the local thrift stores, in part for himself because buying on the cheap is a habit he’ll never be able to break, and in part because he’s come back with some pretty ridiculous things for unbelievably cheap, 70s bell bottoms and an orange velour tracksuit, and the look on Tim’s face is always, always hilarious. Steph and Cass come too, sometimes, and they make a mess of it creating alternate personas with the weird shit they find. 

He picks up a pastel, floral button-up that way; he crows at Tim that it was less than five bucks because Tim spends five times that on socks, he deserves the needling every once in a while. 

But then the knees in his favorite jeans are cut and torn from some work around the Manor he was helping Alfred with and it’s the middle of winter, it’s not exactly worth it to just ignore the holes and keep wearing them as is, not if he doesn’t want to freeze in the dead of a cold, Gotham January. So he goes to the fabric store, picks out squares of a simple lace and some fleece to reinforce it and patches it himself just the way his old neighbor Mariana taught him growing up. Taught him because he was always getting into fights or scrapes and his things always, always needed repairing; taught him because his mother couldn’t and somebody had to. 

He still gets into fights and scrapes and his things still always, always need repairing, from holes in knees to faded elbows and he keeps adding to it, lots of little things coming to a bigger thing. 

It’s not a huge deal, it’s just clothes, after all — but at the same time, it also kind of is. 

—- 

"Hey, Red." 

Tim’s voice crackles in his ear and Jason pauses, grapple in one hand and one foot about to take off for the next roof. “Hey now, what’s this? Thought you’d be halfway across the world by now with the Titans, Red.” 

"What, I can’t take a minute to say goodbye first?" 

Jason huffs a laugh. “Don’t tell me we’re going to exchange weepy farewells.” 

"I’ll write you. _I’ll write you every day for a year_ ,” Tim mimics. The day Steph and Tim decided The Notebook was the perfect movie for a drinking game is a memory burned into everyone’s minds. 

"Get to the point, nerd. I’ve got places to be, people to beat up — " 

"I’ll be back in two weeks," Tim says, neatly interrupting Jason. "If nothing goes wrong which something always does, so let’s call it three.” 

"I’ll try not to pine too much," Jason says, with maybe not as much sarcasm as he would have liked. 

"See that you don’t," Tim says and Jason can hear the smile in his voice. "That’d just be embarrassing for everyone involved." 

"Yeah, yeah," Jason says. "Quit your yakking and get on with it." 

"I left you something," Tim says. "It’s, uh. It’s on the bed." 

"What, like a gift?" 

"Yeah, like a gift." 

"Gee, you’re swell. And to think, my birthday’s not even for a whole three months," Jason says. 

"I’m hanging up on you now." 

"Hey, Red? Be careful." 

"Yeah, you too." 

—- 

His lead on the trafficking ring operating out of the docks pans out quicker than he expected and the night turns into a longer one than he wanted. By the time he and Batgirl have finished tying up all the loose ends and making sure every zip tie is securely fastened and the GCPD has been notified, the sun is starting to rise and Jason’s forgotten all about Tim’s gift. 

"Ugh, I could sleep for a week," Steph says, leaning against him, one hand clutched to her side where he’s almost sure she’s bruised some ribs. 

"Don’t you have class in a few hours, blondie?" 

"Stop saying words, Hood," Steph complains, pushing off of him and bracing herself to head home. 

"I think I’ll sleep into noon," Jason starts. "Maybe two or three, why not, I’ve got nothing better to do…" 

"I will push you off this roof, mister, don’t think that I won’t." 

"Yeah, yeah," Jason says, waving her off. They take off to their separate corners of the city and by the time Jason’s got his kevlar stripped off, tossed into the laundry basket, he thinks he really might sleep until three. 

The small box at the foot of the bed gets pushed off by his feet, forgotten. 

—- 

Jason forgets all about it until nearing 6 PM, after he’s gotten in however many hours of mostly uninterrupted sleep, showered and eaten his weight in omelets and bacon before washing it all down with some darjeeling tea. 

It’s only when he goes to clean off his kevlar that his feet find the box on the floor and Jason remembers, leaning down to pick it up. It’s relatively small and unassuming and when he opens it up and finds a pair of simple, white lacy panties and he hates so much the way his breath catches, foolishly glad that he’s alone. 

The back of his neck burns with a flush but just as quickly as it starts, Jason sags into himself because Tim — Tim wouldn’t do something like this as a joke. Tim’s an absolute shitnerd sometimes when it comes to emotions but he never sets out to be deliberately cruel. 

Which means, what? 

Which means it was an honest gift. 

What the hell. 

—- 

"I don’t get it," Jason says, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he makes some tea. "I mean. Don’t get me wrong, I am not unaware that you’re a kinky little shit, Red Robin, and don’t think I’m not grateful, but why give me that gift when you weren’t around to enjoy it?" 

"First of all, the fact that you consider _lingerie_ the height of kink — what, no. Stop eavesdropping, Conner, go away, and stop making that hand gesture, _you think I can’t see that_?" Jason doesn’t have to see Tim to know that he’s just given Superboy the eye roll and pinched nose double combo and he smiles, fondly, reflexively. 

A beat passes and Jason imagines Tim is moving out of range of his teammates. “Sorry, uh. Well…” Tim starts and then Jason can hear the sound of Tim blowing out a breath. “I was under the impression that it wasn’t about me.” 

And isn’t that just typical. Tim can be so dense sometimes, when it comes to his own emotions, when it comes to relationships, but sometimes…sometimes he’s more observant than he lets on, sometimes he just gets it so right and it scares Jason a little that he’s become that transparent, that Tim can get him so easily.

"No, uh," Jason says, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, a stupid nervous habit made doubly foolish by the fact that Tim can’t even see him. But then, maybe Tim knows anyways, just like how Jason knew about the eye rolling, the usual displays of fond annoyance that Tim has for his team. 

"You’re right, it’s not." 

"Do they fit, at least?" 

Jason ducks his head, grinning because, well — he’s wearing them right now, isn’t he? Of course they fit. 

"Yeah, they do." 

"Good." 

—- 

Later, he peels them down, marvels at prints left behind by the fabric, at the swirls and curves etched into his skin like so much red ink and there’s a lot that’s been thrown at him that’s left a mark but this? 

This feels good.


End file.
